


Interlinked

by Diana Deacon (Dianaliennaire)



Category: Blade Runner (Movies), Blade Runner 2049
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, If happy ending is an option in Blade Runner Universe at all, K deserves more, K gets a family just not the way he thought, Quintuple Drabble, Science Fiction, character death off-screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dianaliennaire/pseuds/Diana%20Deacon
Summary: After all, K was not a miracle child but, maybe, he had something to offer on the way of discovering a wonder or even creating the one. Yet, probably, the girl, who called the dead tree 'pretty', was neither a lady of pleasure nor a rebellion devotee.Exploring some what-if's and alternative possibilities to bring more significance to K's character in BR lore and attempting to flesh out at least one of the female entourage.





	1. Hold the hand of someone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a set of five essays based off and spun into the fabric of the movie (in the author's mind, of course), because I felt K, as the main protagonist, deserved more story to him. The add-ons take place in between the film events with two major changes in the movie's narrative.
> 
> Notwithstanding, Blade Runner 2049 is one of those cinematic masterpieces that only come to big screen once in some thirty years :-)

? _I_ _got into this_ _for money, of course. Who wouldn't"_  

_.When they approached laying out a fortune, I thought there might be a catch_

_But I never – not even in my most dreadful nightmares or brazen dreams – imagined what it would turn out in the end,” – Mariette_

 

Old trees have secrets buried among their roots. K was contemplating over a small print of aerial photo proofs in a place granting the highest quota of solitude ever possible – crowded vociferous city plaza. A hand brushed over his shoulder. K looked to the right, then the left to find the hand's owner at his other side. With two her companions in tow. Three harlots in total. 

Two girls, more flashily dressed and obviously not disposed to wasting their time or giving up the ghosts, smelled a blade runner in no time and left. But she stayed. She was curious, she was funny, she was _provoking_. And pretty, had she wiped up the layers of makeup from her face and got rid of that gaudy 'working' attire. She even appeared a bit frustrated and offended, labelling him a guy lacking taste for 'real' girls, when Joi's emanator started all of a sudden.

The way home was usual, trodden and unimaginative. What was notable, though, was an unwavering certitude in that he has pried open something remarkably significant today, the repercussions of which may turn inside out a league of solid minds. Despite the promise given to his superior officer, K needed to share.

So, once the apartment door closed shut, he offered to Joi, his loyal supporter and virtual lover, “There is something I have to tell you–”

To be shushed out straight away. K strolled over to the window and peered out to where his Joi was looking. Dark evening and snow. He turned a gaze to her radiating face. A veil of secrecy. The entrance door clicked and cracked open, revealing a girl in the doorway. The curious girl from the rowdy plaza. With a tinge of question on his face, K glanced at his Joi.

The right thing to do was send the call girl out, but Joi seemed to genuinely desire to pay K back for his anniversary gift. One real thing for another. If only they were real.

He should have stopped it before it even began, but here he was: standing unable to move and spellbound for watching two girls merge into one holographic body or a corporeal hologram. 'Their' mesmerising bifurcating appearance and light as a feather touches, K was coaxed out of his coat. 

His hands somehow landed on 'their' waist and he yanked – unaware of his own strength – the double closer, peering into the iridescent features. Joi gasped and missed a step, lagging for a split second behind in synchrony, but the girl unflinchingly complied, gazing right into his eyes. Merging back into one entity, 'they' cupped his face, electrifying with a warming and tender caress. And kissed.

A strand of soft blonde hair slipped out of his hand, as 'they' glided away. Watching the double shedding down the layers of clothes and straightening up, a statuesque naked beauty in front of and for him, was convincing in itself there was no more digital Joi and the paid-per-hour girl but a single painfully desirable being who he would never have a hope to be with in his whole lifetime.

When 'they' started forwards, closing the distance, it also became irresistibly tempting to forget then what he was himself. K inched to meet the duo, responding to soft lips and gentle touches. His jumper and shirt pulled off, 'their' smooth skin moving against his evoked nascent impulses that were hibernating within, under the perfectly measured and imposed restraints.

For once, he halted searchingly gazing at the blurred face and reading express longing – that, he for a moment was sure, came from underneath the Joi's disguise – and tacitly stepped aside to turn off the lights and fold out the wall bed. Having him back in 'their' arms, and the mouth on his, the duo slid their fingers under his waistband. Then worked the front open. K backed away, holding 'their' hands and tugging along. He lowered on the corner of the bed and 'they' straddled him. His boots off, K and the 'ghost being' snaked and crept onto the soft surface, peeling off the rest of his clothes.

Titillatingly, the gentle hand wandered down his body and hot breath reached his ear, “I want you. Say it.” The changeable duo lay back and pulled him to roll atop.

“I want you,” he repeated and followed with no hesitation, though, uncertain whom he was confiding in.

The aftermath was awkward. K woke up face-to-face next to the girl who was not wearing Joi anymore. However, somewhere deep within it resounded that he wouldn't have it the other way around – even with the all societal vitriolic commentary besetting him – that he was yearning for someone _real_ , whispering the words of endearment, holding him in their arms and moaning for more. At some point, he remembered, Joi evanesced, too shy to imitate till the end or because of insufficiency of pertinent programming, and he witnessed the pure feverish raw beauty of the girl climaxing under him. K stretched the arm, touching her blonde hair, and as the girl stirred in the sleep from tickling tresses he gingerly crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, unsure what he would tell if the night visitor opened her eyes on him. 

When the girl showed in the kitchenette's doorway, K was alone, staring at coffee percolator. 

“You're making coffee?” she muttered indecisively, the streetwalker swagger and defiance gone completely and surprisingly. 

K raised his intent gaze to her face and nodded, silently. Prostitutes don't often get kissed, if ever. Hand it to her, he had never been kissed himself. For real. Not to mention the rest. His glance involuntarily moved down over her figure.

“I'm Mariette, if you ever need anything... different...” she trailed, averting the eyes. 

He knew she didn't mean sex but faltered in broaching a delicate bubble of incommodity that threatened to rain all the words of hope, remorse and gratitude down on their heads. It probably was also rude not to tell his name in return or offer her a cup of coffee, but before K managed to suppress the discomfort of their current situation, Joi helpfully emanated into the kitchen and ushered the girl away. 

He overheard their muffled contentions in the corridor, Joi reminding the girl that her mission was over and she would get paid as agreed and Mariette's retort about not bothering with money from a hollow girl. When the footsteps quieted and the door thumped shut, K breathed in freer – the lodgings suddenly felt roomier. Yet, distinctly emptier.

“Coffee?” he half-smiled to Joi when she stole into the kitchen, although K already knew the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These scenes happen before K goes the second time to Morton's house to find a sock and gets the order to eliminate everyone connected to that evidence. A bit earlier than in the movie, but for this AU story, I need more time for interaction of these two characters...


	2. Part of you that's missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place right after K discovers the date, carved on the burial tree, and finds the wooden toy, before his journey to a memory artist.

. _When the truth seeped through, I was terrified, appalled and disgusted"_

_.I knew this world has never been a fair place, but sometimes it just pushes you over the brink_

_And there, on the edge, you find someone to jump down together or climb up,” – Mariette_

 

Coincidences lead to evidence leads to finding someone guilty and 'retired'. On the other hand, it was so arresting and soothing to succumb to a vagrant notion of regarding oneself to be someone else. K was listening to Joi's lulling vindications for picking up a real name – because a real boy has to have a human one – until it got too much to bear.

“Stop,” K interrupted, stroking the nape and back of his head, and looked up at Joi, rising, “I need a walk, I'll go alone.”

A real boy needs not only a unique name but recognition among others to answer to that name or at least by those few who certainly would see him as a peer. Girls posing at the brothel entrance either shook their heads or dissipated straight off reluctant to talk once they heard her name. K looked around at a loss. She might have wanted to conceal her identity. Somebody tugged on the cuff of his sleeve and he turned the head. There was standing a woman. Not a pleasure model, older and wearing nondescript garb, the woman extended her hand. K took a chopstick with a stamped eatery trademark on it. 

When K entered the diner, he immediately spotted the blonde girl – she was serving the distant table. Mariette – or whatever she was called – swivelled around and froze, apparently noticing him. She motioned with her head to follow her and K obeyed.

In a dingy dim-lit back-end corridor, she leaned against the wall, looking both ways, wide-eyed and nervous, “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk,” K pressed one hand against the wall over her shoulder, then shortly moved it away, “No, just talk.”

“What the hell is going... Am I paying you to work myself on both sides of the counter?” an outraged porcine man lunged into the corridor and spat out to the girl. Then he switched to K, “And who are you?”

K flashed his police ID card, “Give us a few minutes.”

As the man hissed “fucking skin-jobs” and withdrew, Mariette pushed K back and yelled, “There is no 'us'!”

K clenched her wrist on automatic but loosened the grip.

She wriggled free, “Don't touch me! Get out and don't come back!” Fixed stare, frightened and tense countenance.

Heading out, K didn't see the diner's owner call someone on the videophone and summon the girl to the screen. When Mariette drew near, a hooded figure wearing dark sunglasses greeted her, making the blonde girl shake.

Back home, K clinked one glass against another and gulped its contents down, the twin shot followed right away. Joi's emanator stick was on the table within arm's reach but he didn't actuate it yet. Once in a while, listening to hypnotising silence, diluted by the subdued outdoor promo trumpeting, provided mind-numbing cushioning, dragging the whole way down to the core, sparkling with cognitive discrete snippets. _Do you dream about being interlinked?_

A knock on the door. K opened the eyes and blinked. Knocking repeated. The pivoting open door let in the communal racket, bright stairwell light and the sight of the blonde girl at his doorsill. With a fixed stare and frozen in her tracks.

K raised his brows, “You know what I am.”

Without breaking the eye contact, she stepped in pushing him aside. The first slam was for the door shut, the second for her back meeting the wall. She gasped, sent up against the cold surface, throwing her arms and legs around him, tightening.

K gripped the warmness and softness pressed against him and dove in – eyes squeezed – _blood-black nothingness_. To drink sap of life, absorb energy and slide along the racing waves that _began to spin_ deepening the eye of expanding whirlpool.

She cried out when the thin stretch of elastic fabric unmercifully dug into her skin and tore with a ripping sound, tossed away. In vain, her hands struggled to slip his shirt off but soon weakened to caress the back of his head and shoulders. Zipper hissed, clothes soughed down, and she threw her head skyward moaning at the craved contact.

Going deeper, he stiffened navigating _a system of cells_ drowning and falling to become _interlinked within cells_ around another vortex _interlinked within cells_ – exhausting, vertiginous pull for turning out _interlinked within one stem._

Weeping and tensing, Mariette clawed at K and explode, convulsing around him – gratifying and inviting.

Throbbing from _dreadfully distinct_ pressure, flowing _against the dark,_ in the farthest corner of searing mind _a tall white fountain_ glimpsed and vanished, _played_ out.

As she, still trembling, gently stroked his hear, K raised the head from her shoulder and run the hand down her cheek, feeling the salty liquid, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she briefly shook the head, “Not you.” She swallowed, taking in the surroundings from where they still were – at the door – and added, “So, may I come in now?”

K exhaled in a smile, “You are welcome,” and freed her.

Until the dawn lighted up the sky, they talked and made love and talked again. Or rather K was speaking up his mind whereas Mariette tried to switch the topic. Once, staring at him and listening to his hopes, her eyes filled up with tears but she refused to share anything.

Instead, she told that 'childhood memories' are overstated and many of the human populace would be happy to toss away a big deal of their memories, as per what she heard. With her playful mood back, she smiled and flirted away any of his intimations of 'us', as well as the hint of being something bigger. She told that racial divide was good only for adverts and news because the rotten jungles outside stuck with the same old rule: the strong use the weak. By the sound and look of her, the girl was quite content in her skin: no strings for bodies and no introspections for minds. 

When K frowned for the umpteenth time, Mariette rolled to lie atop of him, mischievous smile, “Okay, just let's try this. In the wake of everything happened. Look at me,” she waited till he focused, then wiped the smile from her face. “I love you.”

Surprised, K crinkled his forehead.

She laughed in response, “You see? Nothing changed. Now you try.” She placed a shushing index finger on his lips before he uttered anything, “Put some feeling into it, just pretend that you mean it. Say it.”

K delayed for a moment and offered, “I love you?” As if asking himself and tasting these words on his tongue.

The blonde girl flashed a sly smile, “Feels different?”

K opposed half-heartedly, “But what if it's not true?”

“It doesn't matter,” she got out of the bed heading to collect her clothes. “Doesn't matter what others think of you or feel about you, only your own conception of yourself accounts for meaning.” Sauntering back to him, she jokingly swung her torn underwear on the finger, “You are indeed a dangerous animal.”

He pressed his lips in a self-ashamed smile, “It's your opinion.”

She chuckled, “And he is a quick learner.” 

After her departure, K was in two minds: relieved and sated for the moment but unsure of how long would he dwell on that relief. Finally, his Joi would never equivocate or leave him in doubts, so he switched Joi on, apologising and promising to shut Mariette out of his life. Traditionally, Joi told her support and love and K stated that she shouldn't have to say that. As luck would have it, at the same moment, the blonde's 'say-I-love-you' testing sprung to his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to render that *winks* scene with a surreal touch, intercutting both characters' points of view. Not sure if it was a right move, but I had a creative fun writing it :-)


	3. Having your heart interlinked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part when the major divergences from the film's fundamental premise happen...

. _Once you entertain the notion you have been through the worst part of your life, it will readily prove you wrong and deal the main brunt"_

_It's unbelievable how clear you start seeing things under the direst of your circumstances,” – Mariette_

 

Echoes of fragmented thoughts and memories swirled in K's heavy head and soared up merging with bonfire sparks over his battered body. Failing the baseline test was revealing, the lay-off predictable, but bringing along Wallace's angels to Deckard's was a burning stain on his conscience and witnessing Joi 'die' ultimately the last straw. Shimmering flames and dancing shadows receded into the distance and the world sunk into the clammy darkness.

Coming to, K winced from the feeling of tautness on his face and pain shots from pressure on his abdominal wound under someone's touch. Someone has patched him up. He warily sat up and glimpsed a woman, her face familiar, yet he couldn't attach the image to any scrape of his memory so far. The place was damp, dark and silent except for the water babbling nearby. He glanced at the woman again and the flash of chopstick picture dashed into his mind – once, she gave him the clue to finding Mariette.

A sound of nearing footsteps ricocheted from the walls and the woman backed away, standing still. As K straightened up himself, several black-clothed figures entered the place, a hooded woman in the middle. The joke about checking her eye for the code was unnecessary, the call to join their ranks uninspiring, but Rachael's story gripped him wholesale. Until Freysa – the replicant rebellion leader – announced that Deckard's lover had a daughter. 

K slumped at the revelation, the room suddenly becoming oppressively smaller and stuffier. Yes, he has been almost sure he was that miracle child and no, there was no need for extenuating his frustration. K was capable of getting himself together in the past, he would pick up the pieces of his calculated sanity again, one way or another.

However, Freysa continued, “There were complications in childbirth, the girl was born too fragile. I promised Deckard to keep her safe and we did for twenty-three years. That was her age when she passed away.”

K remembered the data search for children born with anomalies on that date. And now evidently tampered report of a girl deceased. Wasn't it somehow ominous back then?

Freysa sighed and uttered, “At that, one may think you should leave to mother nature what nature does. What nature does best. We cherished a hope that under reverse circumstances we would have stronger chances for delivering a miracle into this world. A child born from a female human and a male replicant.”

The blade runner frowned staring at the preacher woman.

“Over the years, we've built a solid foundation on both sides of this divided world to get into the facilities, alter the genome of a few specimens with Rachael's daughter's code, give them her memories. What we couldn't do, was to keep the track of our unusual boys.” Freysa paused and supplied, “We found your blood stains in Sapper's house.”

In the blink of an eye, K forgot how to breathe. A crushing guess dawning on him, his heart leapt and the eyes widened. It cost him the steel facade of – as a rule – unmoved police drudge to mumble, “The girl in the plaza... She's never been a hooker.”

Freysa nodded, apparently satisfied with the impression.

“She's a human?” he whispered.

A positive head sign again.

The third question stuck on the tip of his tongue for either version of answering it seemed equally terrifying. Instead, K swerved to a customary way of forming queries – critical thinking. “Wouldn't it be easier for you to get the... cells and grow the baby in-vitro?”

“That's not the way it works,” the women protested triumphally, “we all need stories to back up our deeds. Something genuine on display to prove the child was bona fide.”

“Genuine?” K raised his brows.

“The girl has entered the surrogacy on her own volition and, by the way, she likes you. Or she did until your details got out. And you won't deny you liked–“

“Where is she?” K interrupted, raising his voice.

“She's safe,” Freysa emphasised.

“I want to see her.”

“We should keep her out of a stressful course of events, considering her special status,” the woman stated matter-of-factly.

The third question clarified by implication, K lowered his head and rubbed its back. A swelling flurry of reeling thoughts was threatening to explode.

Nonchalantly and lordly, Freysa went on, “We all have our part in the great cycle of life and life itself is shaped by our dreams, causes and exploits. We define and change our future. And we must ensure it, erasing all collateral ties to our ascending guiding star.”

K gazed up at the woman and punctuated, “I want to see her.”

Freysa looked him up and down, stating firmly, “Then you will kill Deckard.”

K nodded, unblinking.

Blindfolded and seated in a flying vehicle – or was it riding? – K tried to focus on measuring timing and assessing turns and rolls on the journey from one unknown place to another unnamed. In vain. As his consciousness was flooded and washed dry with tides and ebbs of questions he couldn't dare to complete. Was he now?.. Has he?.. Could he?..

A building they entered was perceptibly spacious – they passed though several doors and took a dozen turns until he was stopped. The blindfold taken away, K blinked at the bright illumination and looked around. The room was clinically white, huge and divided by a thick glass partition: the smallest part was for him and custodians flanked at his sides; the largest part in front was empty.

A door opened in the far wall behind the barrier and the peach-blonde girl came in, followed by two women at her heels. K drew closer to the partition and tensely peered into the approaching figure. Messy hair up, medical scrubs, strained movements. She noiselessly padded to the barrier and froze studying his face. Scary and apologetic look in her eyes.

His eyes flickered taking in her face and he wished his face was entirely plastered with bandages to hide his own – fear? resentment? – and that the air wasn't so viscous to breathe and there was no glass wall. Caged, watched and guided. They both were.

She put her palm on the barrier and K immediately matched his hand with hers on his side. Touchless touch. A second later her eyes welled up and, sobbing, she slid the palm down and leaned her head against his hand separated by the transparent barrier.

When two women inside her place started forwards, K urged his watchdogs, “Let her out.”

Nurses grabbed Mariette by arms and shoulders, dragging her away, while she kicked the air and flailed her arms without hitting the target.

K shouted, “Let her out!”

Somebody tried to clinch him from behind and he mechanically averted the grip and dealt the punches. K didn't know what hit him when the room went resonating with a low sound and capsized, the girl's muffled scream ringing in his ears.


	4. Not performing your duties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene takes place right after the events of the previous chapter and before K rescues Deckard...

. _They say when you have nothing you still have hope"_

_.I would never leave my fate at the mercy of others: if you can take today you take, if you can escape you better run. You're on your own_

_Yet, shackled and isolated, I was hoping,” – Mariette_

 

A distant high-pitched ascending tone blasted with the girl's cry-out “Get off of me”, and K jerked into awareness. Enveloped in fuddling murk and greeted by rain pattering on something metallic, he looked around.

He was reclining in the passenger seat inside his old good ironclad spinner, the coat and blaster resting on the driver's place. K sat up wincing from the pain in his abdomen and checked the dashboard monitors. The car was parked in the outskirts of Los-Angeles; his lady boss at the police department was murdered and Wallace's convoy data for deporting Deckard off-world has already been retrieved and displayed for the blade runner – or rather former blade runner? – on the screen. Was the chain dog supposed to change his master and serve on like nothing ever happened?

Grabbing his coat, K got off the car. Dark grey-blue sky seamlessly meshed with the ground along the horizon, blurred by the endless threads of rain – earth and air fused by water. Lieutenant Joshi was right in her apprehension of the crumbling wall between two species, she was only mistaken about the time: it's already come down. Humans joining alliances with replicants, made people exploiting the born ones. K wrapped the coat tighter around himself. There were no separate sides anymore to beat the drum for. What one might choose, though, was their own place in the world. K ripped the adhesive strips off his face and turned around marching back to the car.

The Chinese restaurant owner was an easy mark to spot, and the man instantly noticed K, too, yelling at him, “Hey, skin-job lover, you're gonna pay for every hour your sweetie whore shirked the job?”

An accurate punch in the nose rendered the man lost for words, doubling up and hissing. K wrenched him standing up by the collar, “I need her address and you're gonna tell me it, please.”

Mariette's studio apartment seemed unlived and was chaotic as though she moved in just a few days before hastily leaving or being dragged out. K was picking up her clothes from the floor when a bracelet, deliberately hidden or accidentally having rolled between a night-stand and a bed, caught his eye. K lifted the wristlet and frowned suspiciously – what girl would have interest in Mixed Martial Arts?

In a raucous nightclub, K took the steps down. A massive rusty door lurched and clanged aside when a scanning sensor nearby recognized the bracelet. Two thugs at the threshold brought him to a standstill, and just before he would manage to swing a couple of blows or shoot the toughs altogether down, a lively stocky man run up, waving with his arms to calm down, and beckoned K to follow him. Music and fight racket gradually dwindling, K proceeded in the bowels of the club facility.

The peculiar man turned swiftly on the go to point out at K's hand and guffawed, “Her bracelet, you found it, our good fella!”

“Do you care to tell me where I can find her?” K responded reticently.

“Walls have ears. All secrets of the world. All secrets!” the man suddenly whirled around and waved the arms in front of K's face. Then twice as fast he raced towards a door at the end of the walkway.

K scowled and hurried behind. The room he entered was cluttered by trashed furniture and dead equipment, dark and unoccupied save the queer man and him.

The man turned around once again, encouraging K to follow, and simpered, “Nobody knows where she is. Brainy... They wanna the money back and she's flush stashed it under her skin. All under her skin.” He put the open hands in the air and giggled. “They, boom, gone. 'Cuz with what's under her skin she's worth much more now. Loads of money...” Suddenly he stopped, adding, “What was it like? Like any of yours? Better?” and enacted an obscene movement.

“Is there a chance I can find anything helpful here without hurting you?” K stared down the man and took a deep breath, unworded warning.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” the giggler whispered and shouted again, throwing the arms up, “You're my guest, have a look, all yours! I'm just a pack rat, hoarding me some keepsakes.”

Without watching too closely the further theatrics of the man, K walked around the room collecting several less damaged contraptions and moving on a table at the corner, a few of them even flickered to life. A videophone, surprisingly, still had the calls log. One incoming call entry popped out to K's attention. From Las-Vegas, a couple of days ago. K cocked an eyebrow. There has been only one man in Las-Vegas alive enough to phone Freysa.

The giggler heard K's finger snapping and was eager to scamper up fishing a small box out of his pocket. Approaching, he offered K one of two pills and, getting refusal, swallowed both himself plopping in a chair. 

“Do you know Deckard? Has he been there?” K asked.

The man sleepily waved his arms and shook the head, rubbing his eyes, “Never there...”

“Why would he been contacting the rebellion?” K squinted.

“Family stuff, you know. We good, your girl good, everything fucking terrific...” the man yawned.

K slowly straighten up, “Is Deckard's daughter alive?” and pivoted to the monitors, pressing controls, clicking through the rows of files. “Do you have an idea where she is now?”

“Everywhere... We're fucking fine... No fuss, sarcophagus for us.”

K stopped scrolling down, reversing the search to go up and paused on the entry with 'sarcophagus' in its title. Folders inside displayed extensive dossier on a girl with a fair hair, death date evidently stated; alongside, he found a number of pictures of Mariette, himself and them two – out in the plaza and in his apartment when they were as one. K flinched and shortly clicked the pictures off, “Why would they lie to Deckard about his daughter?”

The man shook his head and finally opened the eyes, stretching, “Fear, love, good fella, you name it.” All of a sudden he burst into laughter, “The old dog would've been awfully pissed off if he picked up about his kin.”

Glancing around, K noticed a rigid, framed plate file, took it up and copied the files. “Still, you might want to make the better effort to destroy the archive. One day someone may come, asking the questions.”

Protesting, the giggler opened his arms, “My kingdom. I am the king!”

The drug-induced show was back on. K smirked and set his steps to the door, hiding the plate file in his coat. Unimpeded, he left the nightclub. If there was someone on Earth able to answer his questions that again was the old blade runner. K got into the car and consulted the dashboard screen for present Wallace's convoy position.


	5. Hold your child in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last drabble happens just after K defeats Luv...

. _Taking this... job, I never asked questions"_

_.It didn't bother me what they needed this child for_

_?Blackmail him or have a souvenir off his flesh and blood on their hands_

_The truth of his nature killed me but seeing him try for something bigger brought back faith I can be better myself,” – Mariette_

 

Dark raging ocean raked the curved seawall coast, not willing to let up an overpowering grip on its trophies, alive and mechanical alike. K and Deckard floundered through the surges pulling one another towards the slanting up concrete margin until, finally, K knelt down out of the water and the older man stooped at his side, spent and dismayed. While the bright-lit corporate vehicle slid further away, whining and brattling, and the ocean avidly swallowed it, Deckard gestured and commented that he should have drowned, too.

K looked worriedly up at him, hesitating, then uttered, “There is something for you to know.” He got to his feet and staggered in the spinner's direction.

Inside the car, he handed the framed plate to Deckard and, snatching a medkit, left the older blade runner alone, the scissor doors slowly coming down. The overcoat was bulky, drenched with salt water and washed up ashore – evidently an award given up by the ocean for overcoming the force of nature. K tossed the coat onto the spinner's wheel hood, holding back from glancing at the older man through the windshield, and pulled the jumper's hem up. That _was a day_ he managed to stand in for a punching bag, a giant sempstresses' pin cushion and a shooting gallery bull eye combined. 

As best he could at the moment, K patched the injuries, packed up the kit and slouched against the spinner, folding the arms and crossing his legs. Waiting. He was still observing the murky water ahead spew its groundless threats forth in waves when Deckard got out of the car. The older blade runner appeared to have considerably aged from the news; haggard and long-faced he plodded up to stand next to K, no word uttered.

“I'm sorry,” K offered softly, glimpsing at him.

Deckard exhaled noisily, staring into the distance for a while, and spelt out as if talking primarily to himself, “Rachael's never been in Las-Vegas. We've never lived in that luxurious palace together.” He stopped to smile crookedly. As the smirk evaporated, Deckard added, “There is a place up north, pretty much hidden in the wild, locals quite chummy and keep their noses out of your business. Not much if you ask me but that'd do for the start.” He focused on K and stressed, “Just don't tell me you're gonna leave your woman behind at their hands.”

K turned his face to the older man and asked firmly, “Do you have an idea where they are?”

Crooked smile back, Deckard croaked assertively, “Get in the car, kid.”

On the way to Freysa's layer, he kept his own counsel and so did K. They only braked twice for getting the garments dry and picking up new guns at a black market.

Following Decards's lead, K slowed and sent the spinner down towards an abandoned industrial compound few kilometres off Sacramento. The place looked serene, covered in snow and shrouded by thick clouds. However, once they touched down a group of strapping armed men bolted forwards from around the corner of the large building. Deckard opened fire without warning, so K joined the shooting until the quiet settled down again, impeccably white snow carpet now branded with blood. The blade runners cautiously turned around the corner. K swung a hefty door open and Deckard first sneaked into the facility.

The plant building's interior was as desolate as its outside – the wind howling in crevices, shattered glass cracking under the feet, rundown wall facing and ceiling threatening to drop on the head at any loud sound or sharp move. Looking left and right, the blade runners gingerly walked down the murky corridor peeking into adjacent workshops. Not a soul.

“Lower your guns!” powerful female voice echoed from ahead the walkway.

K and Deckard spun around and bore down on the dark figure. K squinted when an image of the one-eyed woman came in sight. Freysa motioned to follow her, turning around and heading for a gate in front. A sweatshop they stepped in was crowded by rebellion adherers, yet nobody was levelling a gun at the invaders.

Freysa came to a halt among her partisans and referred to K, “Saving your life and sending you out I never expected you come back. Let alone with your mark.”

“You have a funny way of seeing the dead people alive and the other way around,” Deckard growled, approaching her.

The preacher woman looked him up and down but spoke to K again, “I am impressed, though, what you two have developed over such a short course of time. Shame we cannot let her go. She is too important.”

“Like Rachael was important? And my girl?” Deckard demanded in a raspy tone, staring daggers at her.

“Yes, and I did everything I could–”

“To ensure the purity of your cause so that the baby should've delivered naturally,” the old runner cut her off and talked down.

Freysa was stubborn, “I've been there watching her–”

“Suffering in childbirth pain and bleeding to death? How long? For hours?” Deckard shouted out, enraged and yet deeply hurt.

Standing apart from both, K winced, eyeing the old allies-turned-adversaries.

After a pause, taken for a heat to subside within, Deckard added, “If you'd really cared about her you'd never let that happen. You'd let him perform Caesarean straight off and Rachael would still be alive.”

Freysa tried to argue anew, “We are better equipped now–”

“Enough,” the old blade runner stated resolutely and with a wave of his hand in K's direction punctured: “Let the kids go.”

The woman heaved a sigh and nodded to her people. K watched two of them leave the workshop.

“Where are you going to go?” the preacher woman turned her face to K.

“Whenever I'm going I don't look ahead to seeing you around,” he replied with composure.

“There may be hunters after you, the police and Wallace.”

“If you spot any you can take care, I'll do the rest,” K offered calmly.

Freysa looked him over and nodded her consent. As three figures entered the room, K immediately found Mariette and she caught the sight of him, too.

At once, she shrugged out of her flanking escort's hold, snatching a bag, and hurried towards him. Wide eyes, blonde peach hair down and matching in the colour long furry coat. Coming right up to K, the girl latched onto his arm, sliding the hand down until her fingers landed on the cold metal of the gun. She shot him a worried glance. K reassuringly squeezed her hand for a brief moment, imbuing with confidence, hope and relief.

“We will stop once out of the state and you'll take the car,” he suggested to Freysa, “you can use anything you find there to your advantage. But you will quit following us from that point on. Have I made myself clear?”

The older woman tilted her head forwards, “That will be a deal. For now.”

After K nodded his thanks to the old blade runner and he and Mariette started for the exit, Deckard smirked, prompting to K, “You're gonna be a better father, kid.”

K turned his face towards him, smiling eloquently. 

In the corridor, K he told the girl to stay behind him and unobstructed, albeit watched by the rebels, they made their way to the heavy entrance door. Holding it open, he stalled the girl from going outside right away and scanned the open area ahead.

Standing at the threshold, Mariette narrowed her eyes at the immense whiteness outdoors, so bright and promising. She felt K touch her and gazed at his face. The blade runner gently pulled her coat's hood up, carefully tucking every last of her tresses in, as she took in his face, bruised and scarred. She cupped his face with the left hand and let it slide down – on his neck, chest... Horrified, she jerked the hand up to spy the blood on her open palm. Before she had the time to peel his coat off and look closer, K stopped her whispering “Not now”. Forthwith, he raised the eyebrows and motioned outside as though asking if she was ready. The girl snaked her arm around his and they stepped out.

Going around the corner, Mariette glanced to the left and gasped: on the smeared red snow, Freysa's armed men were packing the dead bodies from the earlier skirmish with the blade runners. K blocked out the view of bloodbath scene for her and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, telling not to look. He waited at the car's passenger side until battered and drone-less Peugeot's door completely sealed and walked about the spinner, gaze intent on the guerrillas. 

Up in the midair, with the sight of notorious compound dwindling and Mariette's strenuousness fading away, K hinted, “Are you okay?”

“Well, I hands down look better comparing to you,” she smiled with sadness, “and, thank you, now I feel much better than when I learned I got involved with a killing machine.” 

“I'm sorry,” he uttered, almost diffident.

“What for? You don't have to be sorry,” she protested and was quick to change the topic. “Where are we going?”

“You'll like it.” A coy smile touched K's face.

“So, we're on the way to the place you like,” Mariette inferred.

K shook the head, “Never been there. I just figure anywhere but here is the better place.”

She peered into his face and beamed, “You're smiling! Look at him.”

He let out a short laugh and turned the head to face the windshield. 

“No, I like seeing you smile. And I like you.” She took a pause for these words to sink in with him, then uttered dreamingly in a low tone, “Before I learnt that you are... When I agreed to this contract I thought, after all has been done, I would go off-world to the place they say is sunny, clean and green. That, still, may be a blatant fallacy or publicity but I want to give it a try...”

“If you don't mind I'd like to keep you a company,” K offered.

Mariette flashed a smile and supplied, “All in all, it turns out you're special.”

K shrugged, “Not that special. Not as special as the girl who came to like a killing machine.”

She laughed quietly and simply asked, “How do you feel?”

K lifted the lapel of his coat glimpsing underneath, “That's nothing, it'll heal really shortly–”

She interrupted, “No, I mean, you. How does it feel for you now? Loved, elated, hundred percent charged?..” She waited, smiling.

He took a moment to contemplate and, chuckling, swept the gaze over her figure and let out the only word.

“Interlinked.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, technically speaking there is still no child in sight or their arms, as the chapter's title hints, yet I intended to leave the end hopefully open. I hazard a guess, K would have made a great daddy and it somehow feels that becoming a father for him would be more rewarding than being 'the born boy'. Something about maturity and the character arc...
> 
> Thanks for reading and please, feel free to review, ask away or correct if I have missed out or driven over the top anything :-)


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